


I will remember you

by LovelyLittleGrim



Series: Forget me not [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 11:12:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6655648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyLittleGrim/pseuds/LovelyLittleGrim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco didn't remember Harry too late; he remembered him too soon.<br/>(Draco's POV)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I will remember you

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own shit. 
> 
> I spent the last three and a half hours writing this instead of sleeping because Draco's side of the story would just not leave me alone. I need sleep.

              Draco Malfoy had always known- had always remembered. Sometimes, he mused, that he had been born into this life _knowing._ What he had not known, however, just like in every life, was the name and whereabouts of his lover. Though this had never worried him, he trusted that Fate would guide them to one another and not part them for very long.

            He remembers their first life together, it’s one of his favorites. They had both gone by different names then. Draco hadn’t been a wizard that first life, but a king. Harry had been the wizard; he had been Draco’s wizard. He had been Draco’s wizard, his advisor, and most trusted friends. Then he had become Draco’s lover and in turn his everything.

            When Draco had died that first time Fate had smiled and promised that where one went the other would follow.

            In their second life Draco understood the truth of her words and thanked the ancient powers for another life in which to love Harry.

            When their seventh life had come about Draco had recognized the pattern: calamity and war. Both Draco and Harry were Fate’s soldiers, only ever winning when they stood side by side to fight.

* * *

 

            Setting eyes on Harry Potter for the first time was exhilarating and nerve-wracking all at once. Not seeing those beautifully familiar green eyes light up with recognition was soul crushing. Not once in any of their previous lives had one of them not knowing the other upon being brought back together. Draco hadn’t known what to say to this unknowing boy. He had fumbled about in his brain, seeking something- anything- to garner the others attention.

            Draco had left the robe shop without ever even receiving his lover's name. His heart ached deep within his chest.

Draco’s mother had called him an old soul from the moment his education had permitted him enough skills to read without help. He wished he could tell her how right she truly was, but Fate would not allow it, for there are consequences to knowing Fates plans. Still, Draco was fairly certain that deep down, even though he could not confirm his mother's musings, she knew. There was always a knowing glint in her pale blue eyes when Draco would wander into the library and tug one of the many magical history tomes down from a dusty shelf and carefully read through every word. The stories gave him hope because the stories were _theirs_ and Fate had always come through.

            When Harry Potter had refused his hand and offer of friendship Draco had nearly burst into tears right there in the Great Hall. Instead, he held his head high like the king he had once been and forced a sneer of disdain onto his face through the wave of hurt. He resolved himself in that moment to wait a bit longer because surely Harry would remember soon and then he would once again be with Draco. Until that time though, Draco would keep a close watch over his lover to be and an even closer watch on the detestable Weasley boy that his love had befriended.

            Draco had been murdered by a ginger once; he didn’t trust them and had spent his entire next life creating the myth that the copper-haired bastards didn’t have any souls.

            Harry continued through their first years of school without ever remembering.

            Draco called Harry names in his frustration because even though he was hundreds upon hundreds of years old he was still only eleven and _Harry didn’t fucking remember him._

* * *

 

           The summer before their second year Draco had overheard his father speaking of dark and dangerous plots; all of which ended in the ultimate demise of Harry James Potter. Draco spent that entire summer distraught with the realization that he was on the enemy’s side. The pattern that had tattooed itself across history with them was not holding. Yes, Fate had pushed them into a simmering war just waiting to boil over, but she had made an error somewhere along the way because this coming war would not be fought side by side. No, they were waging it upon one another and it was slowly breaking Draco’s heart.

            Draco had summoned his favorite house elf that summer; he commanded and begged the little elf to keep Harry safe.

            It didn’t work.

            Harry still showed up at Hogwarts for their second year. He was ostracized by his classmates for being a Parselmouth and fought a basilisk and almost died and he _still didn’t remember._ What’s more, is they were even farther from becoming friends. The entire school had deemed them the most bitter of rivals. It continued this way throughout their third year and into their fourth.

Fourth year. Fourth year was the year that Draco knew with absolute certainty that he and Harry would never be on the same side. Draco put his all into proving that he held nothing but pure contempt for _The Chosen One,_ because if anyone were to ever find out what the two were to one another it could be used for nefarious purposes and Draco would never forgive himself if he were to be the reason Harry had died.

            Voldemort was resurrected near the end of fourth year. Fate rumbled in anger. She had not bequeathed a second life to Tom Marvolo Riddle.

* * *

 

            Fifth year was chaos. Draco wanted nothing more than to come to Harry’s rescue. Instead, he only incited more anger in Harry and his friends. He sucked up to pink wearing she-devil and fed her lies. His hatred of Harry Potter was practically legendary. Unfortunately, so was Harry’s hatred of him.

* * *

 

            The summer before sixth year the Malfoy manner had acquired a house guest and he showed no intentions of leaving.

            Sixth-year Draco was given a daunting task. He had to fix something when he wasn’t even sure how it was broken. The task nagged at his every web of conscience, guilt and nausea and horror were his constant companions.

He had never been the bad guy before this life. He wondered if Harry would ever forgive him for what he had to do.

            Sixth year Harry almost killed him. The magic, familiar and powerful, ripped him open like ragged seams. He had welcomed the reaper when his vision went spotted and dark. If he died then he wouldn’t have to wage a war against the man he loved.

            He didn’t die.

            Sixth year was also the year he was given the order to off Dumbledor. Draco couldn’t do it though. He had never been a cold-blooded murderer and he honestly had no intentions of starting then. Especially when the old wizard, with his twinkling eyes, offered him clemency and a spot at Harry’s side.

            Draco doesn’t remember much between the moment he had lowered his own wand and the moment Snape had barged in and unleashed a quick Avada Kedevra at the Headmaster. Someplace in that small window of time, Draco had become aware of someone that was neither him, nor Dumbledor, nor was it any member of the small hoard of Death Eaters that jeered and cheered him on. Draco couldn’t see him, but he could feel the deeply familiar presence of Harry Potter. Harry was somewhere very nearby; it was causing Draco to have a melt-down. Death Eaters were in the room and prancing about the school, Death eaters who wanted nothing more than to off Harry Fucking Potter for their slimy, snake-ish Dark Lord.

            The next thing Draco is aware of is being pulled through the dark forest by a solemn-faced Professor Snape. Draco glanced back over his shoulder at the castle. He simultaneously hoped to never see Harry again and that Harry would one day in this life be his. The warring desires ate at him for days and weeks and months to come.

* * *

 

            Seeing Harry again after nearly two years was like a swift punch to the gut. Full of surprise and pain because: _Harry was not safe here._

            “Draco, is it him, is it Harry Potter?”

            They ushered Draco closer to the kneeled over form, but Draco didn’t need to be right in front of the boy to know who he was. Draco had seen that face and body in a thousand different lifetimes, even puffy and disfigured as he was now Draco knew who he was; Draco would always know.

            His mother urged him closer still. Draco leaned over until he was eye to eye with Harry. What he saw in those green eyes made him want to weep with joy. Those beautiful green orbs were staring straight back into his own slate grey and were filled with recognition and love and apology. Draco wanted to surge forward, wrap his arms around Harry, kiss him, reassure him that everything would be alright, but he couldn’t. Instead, he summoned up his every ounce of will and stepped away. His eyes dropped down to the unpolished wood floor. When he spoke his voice was unsteady and too breathy, but no one seemed to care about how he sounded. Instead, they focused only on his words, “I can’t be sure.”

            Draco pretended to struggle against Harry for the wands, but really he had practically just handed them over.

            When Harry and his friends had disapparated away, safe and alive, he couldn’t stop the shaky sigh of relief that left him. He also couldn’t ignore the way his mother’s eyes narrowed at him. Her expression equal parts calculating and curious.

            Draco told himself to be more careful in the future.

* * *

 

            The flamed were hot and angry and Draco was sure they would eat him alive as he struggled to climb high and higher.

            When Harry had flown past him, Draco was sure that Harry hadn’t really remembered him. Draco convinced himself in those terrifying moments that he had imagined the love in Harry’s eyes back at the manner. Draco convinced himself it had all been his imagination because he was tired of waiting. Then Harry was flying right at him; eyes determined and hand reaching out for Draco.

            Draco had clung to him tighter than he had ever before.

            Harry gripped the broom with one hand, but the other never left the top of Draco’s where it rested on Harry’s stomach.

            They had cruelly been separated upon landing with not a word able to be exchanged. Goyle tugging at Draco. Granger and Weasley tugging at Harry. They were pulled in opposite directions and back to their respective sides. __

* * *

 

            Harry went into the forest.

            _Harry. Went. Into. The. Fucking. Forest._

            It was the only thing Draco could think as he carefully snuck around the castle. He was in enemy territory and wandless, but he honestly couldn’t give a damn because, well, _Harry was in the forest with Voldemort._

Draco had to get to the forest. He had to stop Harry from sacrificing himself.

            He didn’t make it in time.

            Draco watched with a detached sort of horror as Hagrid carried Harry’s body towards the castle Draco himself had finally just made it out of.

            Voldemort laughed and spoke of Harry’s cowardice, which couldn’t be true because he had not once ever been a coward. The words to tell Voldemort off welled up in his throat but when he opened his mouth nothing came out save for a soft, hurt whine that none near him paid any heed.

            His father called him to join both he and Draco’s mother, but Draco couldn’t because Harry’s body was over there. His body was on the side his parents stood at.

            Draco’s mother called his name. Her voice soft and reassuring in the dark that seemed to be encasing him. Her loving voice told him to come to her and so he did.

            He never looked away from the half-giant holding the man he loved.

* * *

 

            He was alive!

            Alive! Alive! Alive!

            And he won, Harry had won the war without Draco. The knowledge was discombobulating, yet exhilarating at the same time because the war was over and Harry remembers and they... They could finally be together?

            Couldn't they?

            Draco stood protected between his parents, his mind racing through thought after thought until he realized that no, he could not be with Harry.

            Draco was a Death Eater. The mark lay clear upon his arm. Draco Malfoy had no future to speak of; no future to spend with Harry.

            Draco left with his parents. He told himself not to look back; not to hurt himself any more than he already was.

* * *

 

            His father was sentenced to twenty years in Azkaban. His mother sentenced to a year of house arrest. Draco himself had been given four months of house arrest and community service; he would help when the time came to rebuild the school among other buildings destroyed by Death Eaters. The Wizengamont had been extremely lenient with him, more so than he deserved. He couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps the savior of the wizarding world had anything to do with it.

            The morning his term of house arrest finally ended his mother pulled him into a warm hug and asked, “Are you going to go see him?”

            Draco didn’t bother playing dumb and asking if she meant father. They both knew who she really meant. If Fate got angry over his mother knowing then Fate should not have imbibed his mother with such Slytherin cunning.

            When Draco had admitted to not knowing whether he should his mother had released him from her hug and peered into his face, “You have a very long life ahead of you, my little dragon, I do not wish for you to live with regret.

* * *

 

            Harry did not become an Auror like the wizarding world had expected of him, according to his mother it was quite the buzz. Draco couldn’t blame him, though. This life had been exhausting for the both of them. Instead, Harry opened his own small bookshop called, _The Dragons Hoard_ in Diagon Alley. Draco’s mother had shown his the article printed about it in the Quibbler. She made sure to point out the fair sized picture of the shop and Harry on the following page before leaving him with a kiss on the forehead.

            Draco’s fingers shook as he caressed the picture of Harry and the shop. It was a quaint little building, made from dark wood with an enchanted glass front that held the image of a lithe white dragon with large grey eyes. The dragon snorted out puffs of pillowing smoke as he guarded a mountain of books. One large, clawed hand rested protectively on the face of the topmost book. The book's spine faced outwards so that its onlookers could see the title. Draco gave a breathy chuckle at the story of their very first lives.

            He had made up his mind.

            The day had barely started. The streets of Diagon Alley nearly empty save for the sleepy stranglers that wandered out from the various pubs and the shop keeps going about setting up for the day. Draco stood in front of Harry’s building. His stomach was rolling with nerves and a growing sense of elation. Harry was just on the other side of that wall, waiting for him.

            Draco took a deep breath and pushed open the door. Overhead a bell chimed his arrival.

            ‘Hi.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, show of hands, who knows who they were in their first life? (I couldn't resist)


End file.
